The Druid hesitated, his face darkening. Then he nodded. «Very well. Last night I received a summons from my father. He bids me come to him, and I am bound to do so. In life, he was the Druid Bremen. Now his shade surfaces from the netherworld through the waters of the Hadeshorn in the Valley of Shale. In three days time, before daybreak, he will speak with me there.»
Bremen — the Druid who had escaped the massacre of the Council at Paranor, when the Warlock Lord swept down out of the Northland in the Second War of the Races, and who had forged the Sword of Shannara. So long ago, Brin though, the legendary tale recalling itself in her memory. Then, seventy–odd years ago, Shea Ohmsford had gone with Allanon into the Valley of Shale and seen the shade of Bremen rise from the Hadeshorn to converse with his son, to warn of what lay ahead, to prophesy…
«He can see the future, can’t he?» Brin asked suddenly, remembering now how the shade had warned of Shea’s fate. «Will he speak of that?»
Allanon shook his head doubtfully. «Perhaps. Even so, he would reveal only fragments of what is to be, for the future is not yet formed in its entirety and must of necessity remain in doubt. Only certain things can be known. Even they are not always clear to our understanding.» He shrugged. «In any case, he calls. He would not do so if it were not of grave importance.»
«I don’t like it,” Rone announced. «It’s another three days or more gone — time that could be spent getting into and out of the Anar. The Wraiths are already searching for you. You told us that much yourself. We’re just giving them that much more time to find you — and Brin.»
The Druid’s eyes fixed on him, cold and hard. «I take no unnecessary risks with the girl’s safety, Prince of Leah. Nor with your own.»
Rone flushed angrily, and Brin stepped forward, seizing his hand. «Wait, Rone. Perhaps going to the Hadeshorn is a good idea. Perhaps we will learn something of what the future holds that will aid us.»
The highlander kept his gaze locked on Allanon. «What would aid us most is a bit more of the truth of what we’re about!» he snapped.
«So.» The word was a soft, quick whisper, and Allanon’s tall form seemed to suddenly grow taller. «What part of the truth would you have me reveal, Prince of Leah?»
Rone held his ground. «This much, Druid. You tell Brin that she must come with you into the Eastland because you lack the power necessary to penetrate the barrier that protects the book of dark magic — you, who are the keeper of the secrets of the Druids, who possess power enough to destroy Skull Bearers and Demons alike! Yet you need her. And what does she have that you don’t? The wishsong. Nothing more, just that. It lacks even the power of the Elfstones! It is a magic toy that changes the colors of leaves and causes flowers to bloom! What kind of protection is that?»
Allanon stared at him silently for a moment and then smiled, a faint, sad smile. «What kind of power, indeed?» he murmured. He looked suddenly at Brin. «Do you, too, harbor these doubts the highlander voices? Do you seek a better understanding of the wishsong? Shall I show you something of its use?»
It was cold the way he said it, but Brin nodded. «Yes.»
The Druid strode past her, seized the reins of his horse and mounted. «Come then, and I will show you, Valegirl,” he said.
They rode north in silence along the Mermidon, winding their way through the rocky forestland, the light of the sunrise breaking through the trees on their left, the shadow of the Runne Mountains a dark wall on their right. They rode for more than an hour, a grim, voiceless procession. Then at last the Druid signaled a halt, and they dismounted.
«Leave the horses,” he instructed.
They walked west into the forest, the Druid leading the Valegirl and the highlander across a ridge and down into a heavily wooded hollow. After several minutes of fighting their way through the tangled undergrowth, Allanon stopped and turned.
«Now then, Brin.» He pointed ahead into the brush. «Pretend that this hollow is the barrier of dark magic through which you must pass. How would you use the wishsong to gain passage?»
She glanced about uncertainly. «I’m not sure…»
«Not sure?» He shook his head. «Think of the uses to which you have put the magic. Have you used it as the Prince of Leah suggests to bring autumn color to the leaves of a tree? Have you used it to bring flowers to bloom, leaves to bud, plants to grow?» She nodded. «You have used it, then, to change color and shape and behavior. Do so here. Make the brush part for you.»
She looked at him a moment and then nodded. This was more than she had ever asked of herself, and she was not convinced she had the power. Moreover, it had been a long time since she had used the magic. But she would try. Softly, she began to sing. Her voice was low and even, the song blending with the sounds of the forest. Then slowly she changed its pitch, and it rose until all else had faded into stillness. Words came, unrehearsed, spontaneous and somehow intuitively felt as she reached out. to the brush that blocked her passage. Slowly the tangle drew back, leaves and branches withdrawing in winding ribbons of sleek green.
A moment later, the way forward lay open to the center of the hollow.
«Simple enough, don’t you agree?» But the Druid wasn’t really asking. «Let’s see where your path takes us.»
He started ahead again, black robes drawn close. Brin glanced quickly at Rone, who shrugged his lack of understanding. They followed after the Druid. Seconds later he stopped again, this time pointing to an elm, its trunk bent and stunted within the shadow of a taller, broader oak. The elm’s limbs had grown into those of the oak, twisting upward in a futile effort to reach the sunlight.
«A bit harder task this time, Brin,” Allanon said suddenly. «That elm would be much better off if the sun could reach it. I want you to straighten it, bring it upright, and disentangle it from the oak.»
Brin looked at the two trees doubtfully. They seemed to closely entwined. «I don’t think I can do that,” she told him quietly.
«Try.»
«The magic is not strong enough…»
«Try anyway,” he cut her short.
So she sang, the wishsong enfolding the other sounds of the forest until there was nothing else, rising brightly into the morning air. The elm shuddered, limbs quaking in response. Brin lifted the pitch of her song, sensing the tree’s resistance, and the words formed a harder edge. The stunted trunk of the elm drew back from the oak, its limbs scraping and tearing and its leaves ripped violently from their stems.
Then, with shocking suddenness, the entire tree seemed to heave upward and explode in a shower of fragmented limbs, twigs, and leaves that rained down across the length of the hollow. Astonished, Brin stumbled back, shielding her face with her hands, the wishsong dying into instant stillness. She would have fallen but for Allanon, who caught her in his arms, held her protectively until the shower had subsided, then turned her to face him.
«What happened… ?» she began, but he quickly put a finger to her lips.
«Power, Valegirl,” he whispered. «Power in your wishsong far greater than what you have imagined. That elm could not disentangle itself from the oak. Its limbs were far too stiff, far too heavily entwined. Yet it could not refuse your song. It had no choice but to pull free — even when the result meant destroying itself!“
«Allanon!» She shook her head in disbelief.
«You have that power, Brin Ohmsford. As with all things magic, there is a dark side — as well as a light.» The Druid’s face came closer. «You have played with changing the colors of a tree’s leaves. Think what would happen if you carried the seasonal change you wrought to its logical conclusion. The tree would pass from autumn into winter, from winter into spring, from seasonal change to seasonal change. At last it would have passed through the entire cycle of its life. It would die.»